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March of the Winos

peacelovedope

peacelovedope

Bluelighter
Joined
Apr 11, 2009
Messages
311
Location
Recovery
Darkness plus desolation,
times cold and sleep deprivation, they gave their troubles to a bird:
What's the jive?
Better off dead than alive
What's the word?
embrace the numbness cause I'll never be heard

Look at them crowded around the drinking fountain,
Sweet nectar of the unGods
Brown paper bag soliloquies for the glory of limitless catatonia:
each transcribes a beautiful epic of vagrancy on the sidewalk called time

Their collective energy could have the potential to light a leftover Roman candle on July sixth effectively burning through the societal cage of the ever enduring American caste system,

Five star cardboard hotels with a positively divine glass of Cisco

No choice but to sign a pact with great demon urban decay
Will the winos rise and march?
Maybe some other day
 
When I was homeless I had my own mascot. He was a bottle of Cisco. He came in so many flavors. I drank him on the sidewalk called time.

Good poem!
 
It was the best of times/it was the worst of times. It was tough at first because I didn't know where to start. Before it happened I had a great job, plenty of money, an awesome car, pussy, respect and a whole lot of drugs. But because of those very drugs I started losing everything one by one. Then one day I was on the streets. It was a world I was not accustomed to to say the least. I had no street smarts whatsoever. But time changed that.

I soon became a pro. Found my niche'. I discovered I had an uncanny ability to steal. I hated having to do it at first, but as I robbed and robbed it became an addiction that I had to do everyday. Somehow I gained respect among my homeless peers and I got by.

But as time went on, the world began to take on a new shape. Everything seemed to slow down while everyone was in such a hurry. Their jobs, money, family, routines all seemed so pointless to me after a while. It was like watching a bee hive, with all the little worker bees giving it their all just to serve some queen. I saw myself in them. I used to be them. It was like watching some cinema or maybe a painting with which I already knew the outcome.

I could see every brushstroke before it kissed canvas. It was when I was on the streets that I became spiritual. I stopped stealing, and I tried to only do positive(though I was a full-blown alcoholic) and life started to make sense. And it still does. Something I think I never would have found had I not experienced this. But damn, when it was cold and pouring down rain.....That sucked bad!
 
that was a great poem. When i opened the thread, seeing as im tipsy from the pinot, i was kinda hoping for some sort of Dionysian anthem , but nonetheless, you sir are a damn good poet.
 
@MACstar: That's some real shit man, you should write a book about it.
@ganja god: Thanks, glad you also enjoyed it.
 
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